That Fateful Night
by ProwlingKitKat
Summary: I do not know how it began. I do not know why. All I know is that ever since that fateful night, my life has not been the same. Warning: graphic material that focuses on real, detailed issues concerned with sexuality.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: **I own the concept for this idea and the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

**Chapter One: The Beginning**

I do not honestly know how or why it all began. I hated him with a fiery passion, and I know for a fact that he felt the exact same about me. Perhaps that was the reason. That fiery passion. But whenever I sit too long, trying to comprehend my own actions, all I accomplish is giving myself a massive headache. So I have learned not to think about it too much or too often. The day it all started was a day just like any other. It was no different from the one before it. I woke up somewhat reluctantly, quickly got ready, fought with him, grabbed a piece of toast, stopped by the library, went to my morning classes, fought with him, scarfed a quick lunch, spoke to some of my professors, attended my afternoon classes, fought with him, headed off to the library, completed some homework, indulged in a large dinner, hung out with my friends, fought with him, and finished my homework. When the incident happened I was... fighting with him.

It seems to me all I did was fight with him. That is all my school days seemed to consist of. Classes? Meals? Did I have those? Perhaps I did. It is hard to tell when most of my waking hours consisted of screaming and flying objects. I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone. It would not have fazed me in the least if he were to die a most painful death. It was a constant battle between us and our fights were no holds barred. We definately did not hold anything back. They consisted of screaming at each other at the top of our lungs, yelling the most vile insults at one another, stringing together any and all cuss words under the sun to make the most graphic insults, throwing objects at one another, biting, pushing, kicking, pinching, slapping, smacking, and shoving. We never ceased to be at each other's throats.

That fateful night we were once again doing what we did best. I cannot seem to remember what we had been fighting about _that _time, but it seems to me that it is irrelevant. Somehow during our screaming match we had moved so close that our lips were a mere three centimeters apart. However, we were so caught up in the heat of our argument that neither one of us noticed our close proximity. His eyes were filled with the utmost hatred and loathing, sparks of anger flashing through his dark, swirling orbs. I noticed how his lips were curled into a disgusted sneer.

And then for some strange reason those undeniably soft lips were pressing against my own.

Who initiated the kiss was never decided. The only thing that matters was that our lips were glued to one another. We kissed each other hungrily, sucking and biting each other's plump lips, tongues exploring and massaging. Our hands seemed to grow a life of their own as they roamed without direction. Suddenly he slammed me against the wall, causing a moan of pain to elicit from my ravaged lips. He bit me as he trailed kisses down my velvety neck, sucking the blood up to be seen through the top layer of my skin as he put his brand on me. Somehow we ended up in his pitch black room. I was shoved onto the bed as he climbed on top of me, pulling his clothes off as he went.

I hesitated slightly. What was I doing? But then the haze of lust surrounded me once more and I began removing my clothing, as well. He lowered his demanding lips onto mine once more, dueling my tongue for control. His hands rubbed up and down my body, making me moan at his touch. Again I took a page from his book and allowed my hands to explore every inch of him within their reach. He growled softly as his fingers moved to my clit, rubbing hard and fast. I gasped in shock and pleasure, my senses already going into overload.

As he slipped a finger into me, his lips twisted into a strange combination of a sneer and a smirk, almost as if he did not know which facial expression he wished to make. His eyes shone with resentment, disgust, lust, hatred, and... triumph. Triumph? Why triumph? I never did find out. Perhaps it had something to do with the film of tissue blocking his fingers' passage. I winced in pain as he inserted a second finger. As he swirled them around, moving them in and out of me, massaging and rubbing, I felt the oddest mixture of pleasure and pain. I wanted to make him stop so bad, yet I had never felt such a wonderful sensation in my life. I could not bare to even think of halting the motion of his warm fingers. Both my pleasure and my pain increased as he inserted a third finger into my opening. The whole in my hymen widened as each finger entered, stretching the opening. By this point I was screaming again, this time in the most intense pleasure I had ever felt. I writhed around on the bed, moaning his name, screaming profanities for an entirely different reason than I had been earlier that evening. One of my hands held on tight to the sheet as the other entwined itself into his silky locks. My hips began to buck against his hand, wanting his fingers to go deeper, faster.

Then suddenly it all stopped. I opened my eyes in confusion and was met by molten steel. He positioned his hard member at my opening and, without warning, shoved himself inside of me. I closed my eyes tight as a cry of pain burst through my mouth. I scrambled for something to clutch to and ended up digging my nails into the tender flesh of his arms. He began to move in and out of me, fast and hard. He slammed himself into me over and over. Harder and faster. I moaned his name. I cried out as I brought my hips to meet his thrusts. Oh God! Oh Merlin! Who knew anything could feel like this? Such raw, unadultered lust mingling freely with the uninhibited hatred and loathing we felt for each other.

When it was finished he collapsed beside me on the bed. I had a terrible time trying to catch my breath and, surprisingly, so did he. For twenty minutes the room was deadly silent except for our ragged breaths. Then without a word I climbed out of the bed and walked out of the room, completely naked, and left my clothing on the floor. I walked into the bathroom and took the longest shower of my life. Afterwards, I went to my room, threw on some sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, and climbed into bed.

The only thought running through my head was... why?

**A/N:**

Please review and tell me what you think so far. Thank you!


	2. After

**Disclaimer: **I own the concept for this idea and the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

**Chapter Two: After**

I had ended up crying myself to sleep that fateful night. I could not for the life of me understand what had come over me. How could I do such a horrible thing with the one person I hated more than the devil himself? He was the one person I swore I would hate for all eternity, until the stars crumbled in the sky. It was almost as if I had been possessed by something intent on doing me harm. But who would want to destroy me in such a detestable manner? Nobody could wish so ill of me to force me into doing unspeakable acts with my enemy!

I woke the next morning sore and tired. My head pounded and I noticed as I stumbled out of bed and walked to my closet that something was wrong. The spot between my legs felt sore and I could not walk upright. I pulled down my sweat pants and kicked them towards a pile of dirty clothing. Sitting on my bed, I brought my knees up and looked between my legs. I frowned and grabbed a mirror off of my side table. Angling it so I could see clearly, I cautiously touched the swollen area.

My mind shot off into a million directions. What was going on? Was I sick? Did something poisonous bite me? What should I do? Should I go to the Hospital Wing? And then one thought rang out clearer than the rest, hammering onto the inside of my skull and causing the pain in my head to grow ten-fold. This must have been a result of the night before. How long until it goes away? Shaking my head in disgust I got back up and began preparing myself for the day ahead.

As I was pulling my hair up into a messy bun I noticed a dark red mark on the right side of my neck. Staring at the mirror closer to determine what it was, I gasped in shock. A hickey! That freak left his mark on me! How _dare_ he? I was beyond furious. Angrily, I grabbed my concealer and dabbed the tan liquid onto the offensive mark and rubbed it in. Searching myself for more such marks, I ended up finding three others. One on my left shoulder, one on my left breast, and one on the inside of my right thigh. Using the concealer I managed to cover them all, growling and muttering profanities under my breath all the while.

When I was finished getting ready I threw my book bag over my right shoulder and carefully walked to the Great Hall for breakfast. I had to force myself not to wince with each step I took. As I finally reached my destination, I carefully lowered myself into a seat at my House Table. I ignored my friend's questions and jeers about the way I was walking and why I was so late as I hurriedly consumed some porridge and a piece of toast. Gulping down my orange juice, I waved goodbye to my friends as I grabbed my bag and made my way to my first lesson of the day.

The day had gone by slowly. Whenever I saw him I would quickly avert my gaze or scurry in the other direction. A few times I even caught myself ducking behind corners. I just could not bring myself to face him. What would I say? What would I do? I still loathed his very being, but how is one expected to act once one has indulged in such an initmate act with another? It was all so disconcerting.

Thankfully my concerns were answered that same evening in my Common Room when he shouldered past me as he muttered 'filthy bitch' under his breath.

My probing mind sated for the time being, my life rapidly went back to normal. We treated each other as though nothing had happened between us and, surprisingly, we were both completely content with the situation. That is, we seemed to be until a mere three weeks later.

I was reviewing my Transfiguration notes as I walked down the corridor towards my Charms class. Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind and pulled into an old closet. Too stunned to do anything, I stared dumbly at my captor. I was then shoved roughly against the wall as a pair of lips crashed onto mine full force. I pushed him off of me, gasping for breath and staring at him indignantly. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You have no right to-"

I was cut off mid sentence as he yanked my head towards his, forcing his kiss onto me. I struggled at first, trying to twist away from him. I tried to keep my quivering lips from responding to his demanding ones. He then pushed his tongue into my mouth and I unwillingly responded. I continued to try to push him away from me, beating on his chest weakly, but to no avail. I finally succumbed once his finger slipped inside me. I gasped in surprise and pain as he yanked me toward him using that finger. I noticed for the first time that my clothes had gone missing and that he wore nothing but a pair of boxers.

That offensive article quickly disappeared as well.

He grabbed one of my legs and pulled it up, bending it at the knee. Balanced on one foot, I grabbed onto the upper arm of his free hand for support. As he slammed into me, my vision went black for all of three seconds. My vision clearing, I threw my head back and moaned at the pleasure coursing through my veins. I was only slightly shocked to notice that there was no pain this time around and it felt as though it was my hundredth time having sex. Was it natural for it to feel so... natural? He continued sliding in and out of me, building a constant rhythm. Then all of a sudden he pushed into my abruptly, forcefully, breaking the rhythm and eliciting an alarmed gasp from me. He continued to do this intermittently, never at any specific time. It was almost as if he was trying to keep me on my toes, keep me from getting bored.

When he finished inside me, I leant against the wall for support. Who knew it was possible to be this worn out? After I had regained enough strength, I began searching for my clothes. Feeling a bit disoriented, I reached out a hand to steady myself. Once I had gotten myself together, I looked up and found his inscrutable gaze fixed on me. His eyes slowly traveled down to land on something level with my shoulder, and as my eyes followed his I noticed that I had been using his bare arm as support. I quickly pulled my hand away from him as if burned from the unwanted contact.

I had trouble dressing myself. My fingers did not seem to want to hold anything, much less have to deal with annoying little things such as the buttons on my shirt. I could not seem to figure out which way was in and which was out, or how to zip my skirt. I felt numb all over and my body was slow to respond when my brain asked something of it. I only looked up once I was finally dressed, and as I did so I noticed the tip of his midnight black cloak slip through the door before it closed noislessly behind him.

**A/N:**

I would like to thank those who have reviewed and shown their support. It means alot to me. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter as much as you did the first. I also hope that you continue to read and review this story. I have yet to begin work on the next chapter, but I will post it as soon as it is completed. Thank you again, and please review!


	3. Firsts

**Disclaimer: **I own the concept for this idea and the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

**Chapter Three: Firsts**

I kicked at the sheets entangled around my legs, trying to free myself from their constricting refines. I sighed as half of the sheet fell to sweep the floor, joining the thick comforter that normally inhabited my bed. Brushing a strand of hair from my face, I turned over once more and stared at the ceiling. Abruptly I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to fall into the abyss of darkness. I wondered if the Sandman was real. Merlin was real, even though muggles are under the impression that he only inhabited fairy tales. So perhaps it was possible that the Sandman existed as well. And if he was not just some manifest of the muggle imagination, then why would he not sprinkle his sand over my head and allow me to slip into the sweet surrender of slumber? The Sandman was truly cruel.

Feeling claustrophobic from breathing the stale air that occupied the room, I rolled over, slipping my feet onto the floor beneath me. I made my way to the window and pulled the heavy curtains away from the glassy surface hidden behind them. As I swung the window open I gathered in a lungful of the fresh breeze that drifted past. I stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, before I tiredly padded back to the bed and collapsed onto the soft mattress. A content smile slipped onto my lips as I closed my heavy eyes.

Not long after, the lids upon my orbs sprang open once more as I groaned in frustration. I listened as the trees outside my window whispered secrets to one another while the wind danced from leaf to leaf and branch to branch. I ground my teeth together, thoroughly vexed at my inability to fall asleep.

As I tossed once more, I slammed my head onto my battered pillow harder than was neccessary. Slipping my arms beneath the pillow, my cheek pressed against the fabric, my mind wandered to the reason for my restlessness.

The time in the old caretaker's closet had not been the last time he cornered me in the months that followed our first time together. He had taken to popping up at random times and places when I was alone. I do not know what had gotten into him. It was almost like that fateful night started a domino effect. Every time I turned around he was there; kissing me, caressing me; and I never possessed the ability to turn him away. He was like an addiction. I wanted him even more as the days went by. I could never seem to get enough.

We spoke to each other as we always had. We argued and fought constantly, never agreeing. He annoyed the hell out of me and I could tell I angered him merely by existing. Yet there was something about him I could not quite put my finger on. Something seemed to draw me to him, like we were opposite charges of a magnet.

The sex was always rough, demanding, and void of any emotions aside from lust and hatred. It was almost primal.

It was strange. I always imagined my first time would be with someone I loved and cared for. The situation I had found myself to be in could not have been further from that distant fantasy. If only I had possessed a time turner to take me back in time so that I could have prevented everything from happening. My life would have been so much less complicated.

I had gone to the library after our second time together. I looked through book after book, trying to figure out what was going on with me and what could have made me do the things I did. And with him of all people. The majority of the books on the anatomy of sex stated that one out of every ten people became sexually aroused when anxious or angry. Alright. So the solution was to just remain calm around him. Yeah. Oh wait, that was impossible with him involved. He knew how to push my buttons better than anyone I had ever met.

I realized that there was no chance in the seven hells I would be getting to sleep that night, so I decided to go sit in front of the fire for awhile. I slowly creaked the door open and peeked through the crack, praying to any gods listening that he would not be on the landing. I sighed with relief when I did not see anyone and tiptoed out the door, turning to shut it softly so as not to wake him. As I whirled back around I let out a strangled cry of fright. I clutched a hand to my chest to calm my erratic heartbeat as I silently cursed the malevolent gods.

"You scared the hell out of me! Do not sneak around like that," I berated in a somewhat shaky voice. He merely shrugged nonchalantly before he began his descent down the short staircase. I followed and plopped myself down onto the opposite side of the couch as him. For the longest time we just sat there, staring into the leaping flames. Then my head turned towards him of its own volition and, without warning, my mouth opened. "Why are we doing this? Do you even know?" The words were out before I even knew what it was I asked. My gaze burned into him as I searched for the answers on his impassive face.

My question was followed by more silence. After awhile I gave up on receiving any answer and resumed gazing into the fire. Almost half an hour had passed by when I was startled from my reverie. "No," he said, and that was all.

The minutes ticked by until they had turned into hours. The two of us sat, side by side, unspeaking and unmoving. Suddenly I felt something warm pressed against my hand. As I glanced down, his fingers curled around mine. He scooted closer to me until I could feel his breath tickling the sensitive flesh of my neck. I swiveled my head around to look at him and found myself lost in his penetrating depths. I tried to fight the urge to press my lips to his, but my desire overwhelmed me. I kissed him tentatively, my plump lips moving slowly against his thinner ones. I allowed his tongue to enter my orifice for a few seconds before I pushed it back into his own and allowed my buds to taste the sweet saliva coating the surface of his mouth and tongue.

He pushed me back against the couch until I was lying down fully as he hovered above me. He gently removed my shirt as his kisses moved along my skin, causing my nerves to tingle. I registered him unzipping my skirt and pulling it down my legs, followed by my lacy black panties. All the while my fingers worked on unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants. He pulled his clothes off and tossed them onto the carpeted floor alongside my own. My flimsy white bra quickly followed.

I felt his warm mouth cover my nipple. He softly sucked and licked, his tongue swirling around the hard peak. A gasp escaped my lips as my back arched towards him. I threaded my fingers through his silky locks and pressed his head down, silently asking for more. He continued to caress my breasts with his magical mouth as my moans filled the sparsely lit room.

He continued to touch me, grazing his fingers across my warm flesh, causing me to shiver at the tingling sensation that shot through me. He gently tweaked my nipples with his thumb and forefinger as he trailed kisses down my body. He nibbled and sucked on my earlobes and swirled his tongue in my bellybutton. Slowly, he positioned himself at the opening between my thighs. I ached for him to enter me, practically shaking with sexual tension. He gently pushed himself inside of me. He paused to nuzzle his face into my neck, his breathing sharp and fast with desire. Then he began moving in and out at a slow pace. He pulled me to him and held me tightly in his arms, kissing my neck and shoulder. The breath hitched in my throat as I clutched his back, my hands roaming over his skin.

I gasped softly, pleasure streaming through every nerve in my body. The weight of his body on mine made it difficult to gather enough breath to moan as I dearly wished to do. Ironically, he took that moment to whisper "On top." He pulled out of me as we switched places. As I straddled his hips I made the mistake of gazing into his whirlpool eyes. I saw the usual emotions swirling within his icy orbs, but just before I pulled my gaze from his I noticed something foreign flicker within those tumultuous depths. I raised up above him before timidly lowering myself onto his plump member. I winced slightly in pain and wiped a stray tear from my cheek as I pushed down until he was embedded deep inside me. I paused for a second, allowing myself to adjust to his length.

He grabbed my hips and began to move me up and down, staring transfixed as I swallowed him. As he taught me the rhythm, I began to move a bit on my own. I moved my body up and down along his shaft for awhile before I added a swirl to it, swinging my hips in a circular pattern. He groaned in pleasure. "Oh shit. Oh fuck. That feels so good," he moaned. He pulled my body flush against his. I lost the rhythm for a second and he once again guided me into it. I bucked my hips against his, my fingers weaved into his mussed hair. I kissed him deeply, moaning into his mouth. I felt his hands yanking on the hair flowing past my shoulders.

"Oh. Oh fuck. Oh G..God," I moaned softly. For the first time all night, his thrusts became faster and harder. "Oh. Oh. Oh! Oh Gaah... Shit! Oh fuck!" My cries of ecstasy crescendoed until they reached screaming level. "Oh yes! Oh God yes!"

I began to feel a somewhat familiar sensation build at my entry. I cursed silently to myself and prayed I could refrain from peeing on him. The feeling grew more intense until the suppressed liquid released itself from my groin. He pulled out of me; pushed back in. As he pulled out of me once more, I felt my juices gush over him. A look of mortification and abasement written clearly on my face, I tried to pull away from him. He held me in place as a smirk took the place of open-mouthed panting.

I could not believe I actually relieved my bladder onto someone while having sex. Was it possible to die from embarassment? His smirk grew into a full-out grin as my cheeks reddened with humiliation. "What?" he asked me teasingly, "Embarassed that I made you cum?"

I blinked at him in confusion. I had done what? "Cum?" I asked him, now more lost than ever.

He chuckled at my naivety before responding with a roll of his amused eyes. "You orgasmed."

The confusion disappeared from my face, only to be replaced by embarassment for an entirely different reason. I felt like a complete moron. How could I have not known that?

All the while he had been moving in me slowly so as not to lose his erection. Now that the misunderstanding was cleared up, he regained speed. The bliss came once more and I was lost to all other thoughts.

As he finished, I collapsed on top of him, too tired to move. My shallow breathing slowed as I concentrated on the beating of his heart beneath my ear. His arms were wrapped tightly around me and a sense of contentment overcame me, along with exhaustion. His finger drew lazy circles over my back as my eyelids began to droop. Before I drifted off to sleep, I noted two things. The first thing was that this had been the first time he was gentle with me instead of rough, cruel, and demanding. The second thing noted was that tonight was the first time either of us stayed long enough to fall asleep together. I let out a soft sigh, and then I knew no more.

**A/N:**

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter as much as the last two. It's longer than the others, so I hope you appreciate that. Lol. Please review and tell me what you think. I'm anxious to know your opinions. Thank you!


	4. Phases

**Disclaimer: **I own the concept for this idea and the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

**Chapter Four: Phases**

Ever since the first night he and I had fallen asleep together things changed between us. Neither one of us felt the urge to admit such a horrendous thing could happen, but it had. It was apparent by the subtleties. He had become more gentle with me. We held conversations about our opposite viewpoints on everything from food to the meaning of life. We never agreed on anything, which I suppose added to the excitement. The hate was still present, as was the lust. But something deeper and more meangful had begun to develop.

Time passed and eventually we were near the end of our last year at school.

I was relieved that I had finally finished my NEWTS. I entered my dorm and noticed that he sat on the couch. I walked over and laid down on the couch, my feet in his lap. We stayed that way for a time, enjoying the peace that silence presented to us. After awhile, he made to move and I removed my feet from his lap. He slowly stood and dusted imaginary dirt from his robes. He then held out his hand for mine.

I hesitated slightly. Should I allow this to continue? The preceding months had been strange to say the least. However, graduation was to come in two days time and I needed to turn over a new leaf. I needed to move on from that blasted tryst I had with him and begin the next phase in my life.

Yet graduation was not for another two days.

I grabbed the proffered hand and he smoothly pulled me to my feet. He guided me to his room and closed the door behind us. Slowly, he began to undress himself. I quickly followed suit and we were both nude in mere seconds. He pulled my head towards him, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. He deliberately backed towards the bed before he pulled the two of us down onto the soft mattress.

Hands roamed and lips caressed. Our breaths quickly became ragged as our excitement grew. His fingers rubbed my clitoris before they entered me. I felt his hot lips on my neck and breasts. I felt them grace my stomach and thighs. As he entered me I moaned his name, my fingers twisted in his silky locks. My nails raked his back as he thrust harder and faster. My moans turned to cries as I begged him to fuck me. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and kissed his skin. The salty taste of sweat lingered on my tongue as I sucked and bit at his neck. His pants were heard next to my ear. He moaned my name and I became even more aroused from the sound that emitted from his delicious mouth.

He followed only moments after I orgasmed. Always the gentleman, he had waited for me to get off before he allowed himself to release. I felt my lungs pulling in oxygen before expelling carbon dioxide into the air. I repeated this process as my heart beat slowed and the pink flush to my cheeks was replaced by the normal tone of my skin. He rolled off of me before he wrapped his strong arms around my lithe frame.

We laid there silently for awhile before he spoke. "If I see you on the battlefield-"

I cut him off before he could finish his solemn statement. "You will not hesitate to kill me. I know." My voice was calm, and while the words I spoke would have seemed dreadful on a normal occasion, I felt a remarkable sense of peace and contentment.

"And you will not hesitate to kill me either." It had not been a question. It had been a plain and simple fact. His voice sounded as mine did, calm and serene; content with the situation.

"Yes. I will not hesitate to kill you either." As this sentence left my lips we drifted off to sleep, his arms still holding my body tight against his muscular frame.

I graduated along with the rest of my year and moved into a hideout with my friends and our protectors. The long awaited war had begun. My days were filled with strategy plans and news of deaths. Massacres were being committed amongst the muggles and two men were in charge. One with blood red eyes and one... one I knew better than I knew myself.

Every day life grew harder for those of us at the hideout. Our side was losing and dozens of people were being murdered in cold blood on a daily basis. Family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers alike were being picked off by the enemy and it seemed that the harder we tried to stop it, the more people that died. His name was in the Daily Prophet every day and I felt my stomach churn whenever I heard of the evil deeds he committed. He was projected as a ruthless killer with no emotions whatsoever.

I knew they were wrong. Yes he was ruthless. Yes he was a killer. But he had feelings just like the rest of us. He could feel remorse, happiness, anger, hatred, grief, contentment, ecstasy... He could feel anything that any other person could.

Yet still he killed. He tortured helpless women and children before he murdered them without hesitation. He did not see them as humans, only mere animals to be slaughtered. Every day came news of more killing. More pain and suffering at his hands. The ministry saw him as the second largest threat to our world.

Every person around me was falling into depression. Despair overcame us all as all hope was sucked from us. It was as though a group of dementors had sucked the happiness out of us. It got worse by the day as more people died. Many of the people that we had grown up with were suddenly and painfully ripped from our lives by the same hands that once caressed my skin. He and his followers destroyed our morale. Bit by bit they annihilated everything we held dear; everything we fought for.

I had come down with what I thought to be influenza. I paid a visit to the resident nurse at the hideout that had become my home to receive a potion to cure me. I could not afford to be sick if I was called to fight. She insisted on running tests on me and the results shocked me to my very core.

I was pregnant.

I was pregnant with his child.

Thoughts swirled around in my head as they fought for the prominant position in the forefront of my dazed my mind. How could this happen? How could I let this happen?

With a resounding crash, the reality of the situation hit me and I realized that I was to be a mother. I was to be the mother of his child. Of all people, why him? Why did it have to be him? I detested him with every ounce of strength I had, yet ironically he had fathered the being growing inside my abdomen.

Days passed as I decided what it was I would do. Abortion never even entered my mind. It was murder, that was all there was to it. I could never kill an innocent being, especially one of my own flesh and blood. Every person deserves the chance to live. It was not this child's fault. It was my doing. It was his doing. But this defenseless child had no choice in the matter and deserved the opportunity to live a happy and healthy life. The real question was whether or not I would raise this child or give it up for adoption.

One day the answer came to me as I was eating lunch. I would keep this child. It was my responsibility. The newest question was how to tell those I lived with of my condition.

Several more days passed before I had gathered the courage to confess my secret to my friends. I sat down in a chair across from them after dinner one night and told them. No ribbons or frills. Just the cold hard truth.

"I'm pregnant."

They were shocked into silence and I awaited their response with baited breath. They asked me how and who the father was. I rolled my eyes and told them that they knew perfectly well how and that the father was of no importance. The next day my news had spread until every person at the hideout knew. Most were shocked, but it was as though my pregnancy renewed the faith in our cause and brought a fresh hope for the future. With renewed strength and vigor, the enemy was beaten back from our doorstep.

Time went by and the war continued to rage on. I still refused to reveal the father of my unborn child, much to the chagrin of those around me. I was kept protected in the hideout and was forbidden to venture outside of its walls for any reason. Less of my people died and more of his people died. The deaths in the Prophet lessened, however, the ministry had yet to capture the elusive Number Two.

Then one day sharp pains began in my stomach. I screamed as jolts of pain shot through me. A liquid gushed from between my legs as people came rushing towards me.

Thirteen hours later I had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. As I held her in my arms, an exhausted smile adorning my face, I uttered one word. "Hope."

A month later the war was over. Our side had come out victorious, although nobody had truly won. Too many loved ones were lost for us to exalt much in the defeat of the enemy. Their faces would never again be seen. Their laughter would never again be heard. The snake with the red eyes had been killed, but his right-hand continued to evade capture. Search parties were sent to track him down with no success. Everyone began to move on with their lives. Hope and I moved into a tiny one-bedroom flat in London and I was quite content with my life. Then one day six months later a joyous yell was heard throughout the flat.

Harry ran into the room yelling, "Hermione! He has been caught! Draco Malfoy has finally been caught!" A bittersweet smile formed on my face as I was grabbed into a bear hug and whirled around. Once he left, I gathered Hope into my arms and kissed the top of her head.

"Your daddy has been caught baby. I am sorry you will never get the chance to meet him." It was true that I hated him, but hate was a complex emotion. I could not put my finger on what it was I felt for him, I only knew that a part of me seemed to die and leave an empty abyss in its place. I remembered his caress and the intensity of his silver orbs. I remembered his kisses trailing across my skin. I had let out a soft sigh before I set off to begin the next phase of my life.

**A/N:**

Well, that's it people.It's finally finished. However, I might write a short epilogue. Tell me what you think. Should I write one or should I leave it as it is? I would like to thank everyone who supported me through this story and the long time between updates. I would also like to thank everyone who reviewed and encouraged the creation of this fic. I appreciate each and every one of you. I know you all are probably saying that this story is too short, but it was originally meant to be a one-shot. I'm proud that I managed to stretch it out this long. Anyways, please review. I would love to hear from all of you. And again, thank you!


	5. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I own the concept for this idea and the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

**Chapter Five: Epilogue**

It was dark and dank where I was. There was a dirty, musty smell caused by the stale air and the grime. There were two doors in this room and two chairs. I nervously twisted and tapped my fingers, my anxiety manifesting itself in a physical form. I was tugging at a strand of my unruly hair as the door creaked open and a shuffling sound preceded the sight of a filthy and haggard man.

There he was. My enemy. The bane of my existence. The devil reincarnated. The husband of my child.

Draco Malfoy.

His skin had taken on a sallow tint. It was loose and droopy around his thin frame. His harsh grey eyes, framed by red rims, were blank and dead. His arms were cuffed in front of him and his ankles had heavy shackles weighing them down. There were three wizards guarding him, wands pointed steadily at his heart.

"Granger," issued hoarsely from his lips.

"Hello, Malfoy." He sat in the only other chair. Silence swelled in the small visiting chamber as neither of us knew what words to speak. It stretched on until it was finally shattered by the sound of Malfoy's hacking. "Are you alright?" I asked him, a strange emotion reminding me alarmingly of worry creeping into my stomach.

He emitted a low, harsh choking sound that I took to be a laugh. "Just peachy, Granger. What can I do for you?"

I tried to stall by clearing my throat, tapping my fingers on my leg, and flipping my hair over my shoulder. Finally I said, "It has been a long time. I..." This is when I trailed off, words failing me once more. I stood from my seat and walked to the door Malfoy had not entered through. I exited and came back with someone holding my hand. "This," I began once more, clearing my throat from that nervous tickle, "is Hope."

Malfoy's dead eyes turned slowly to the tiny child cowering behind my robes. He stared for awhile before he turned the slate orbs back to my own chocolate ones. "You have a child." The sentence was simple enough, but each word felt like a heavy weight being slammed into my stomach. I licked my suddenly dry lips and nodded my head, my eyes still locked with his. "I was wondering why we never met one another in battle."

"Yes," I muttered softly. "She is two now."

The ragged man before me nodded his head, his grimy locks swaying with the movement. "She has my eyes," he commented after a long pause.

"She does."

"She is beautiful." Just as soft.

"She is." Just as simple.

Afterwards. I was glad I went. I wrote to him every so often, feeling obligated to take notice of the man who gave me such a wonderful child. Years later, I discovered that Hope had been writing to him, as well. I took her to see him once more, when she was twelve. The look on his face when he heard she was sorted into Ravenclaw was a mixture of disappointment at her not being a Slytherin and relief that she was not a Gryffindor.

Hope visited her father once on her own, at the age of nineteen. He passed away the next day.

I keep nothing but the good memories of Draco Malfoy. I forget he was a mass muderer, I forget he tortured my friends and I, and I forget he hated me. I only remember the way he kissed me, the daughter he gave me, and the rare times his face lit up with that dazzling smile.

**A/N:**

I'm sorry I made you wait so long for such a short epilogue. The past few months have been stressful. Anyway, I hope all of you enjoyed the ending of **That Fateful Night**. I would again like to thank you all for reading and reviewing this story. It means so much to me. This is the first one I've actually finished. Writing is important to me. All of your thoughts and opinions are appreciated. I love you all!


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